


love in the face of horrible commutes

by mythmade



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 08:09:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1462066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythmade/pseuds/mythmade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>they keep meeting in taxis. and on public transportation. it's annoying until it's not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is pretty much based on [this post](http://mythmade.tumblr.com/post/79843828255/can-you-imagine-les-amis-in-dc-tho-like-not-as) i wrote a while ago and some post i saw about aus that needed to be done more so bam! here we are. (also whoops the cab driver in the beginning is basically who i am as a person so.)

“Can you take me to the corner of Connecticut and Calvert?” Enjolras is already sliding into the passenger side of the cab.

“You don’t want to just give me an address?” The cab driver looks equal parts bemused and annoyed.

Enjolras shakes his head. “I don’t like to give personal information out to strangers.”

Feuilly drives a taxi four days and three nights a week (those days overlap some), but tonight is not one of those nights. It’s true that Enjolras could have called him up for a ride, but he doesn’t like to take advantage of his friends like that, so here he is on L Street on a Friday night, trying to avoid giving sensitive information out to a tired cab driver. It could be worse. He could have chosen to take the metro and it’s been single tracking all week, so small miracles do exist.

The cabbie just sighs. “Of course not.”

“So can you take me?”

“Yeah yeah. You political types are all the same, I swear.”

Enjolras huffs as he gets into the car. “I am not a political type.” The cab driver raises an eyebrow. “I’m a lawyer.”

“There it is.”

“Should you be insulting paying customers?” Enjolras doesn’t like to be manipulative, but sometimes extenuating circumstances demand it. He’s tired and just wants to go home.

“You haven’t paid me, yet,” the driver reminds him.

Enjolras lets his head fall against the seat. “Can we just go?”

“Sure thing, boss.” The cabbie honest to god salutes him.

“Please stop.” Enjolras closes his eyes.

“Yeah yeah. Calvert and Connecticut, we’re going, we’re going.”

Enjolras must fall asleep because suddenly—

“Hey blondie.” The cab driver is tapping Enjolras on the shoulder.

“Wha?”

“Yeah I hate to wake you up and I don’t usually stop once I have a paying customer, but do you mind if I pick that guy up? I don’t want to leave him to anybody less kindhearted than I am.”

Enjolras looks around in confusion. “What?”

“There’s a guy trying to wave down a taxi and he doesn’t look so great. Do you mind if I pick him up?”

Enjolras finally locates the man in question. He appears to be clinging on to a lamppost and whistling. He looks very very drunk. “Yes of course. I don’t mind.” Enjolras yawns. “But you’ll still drop me off first, right?”

The cab driver puts her turn signal on to pull over. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Enjolras isn’t really looking forward to sharing a tight space with an inebriated stranger, but he appreciates the cab driver’s concern for the man and he certainly doesn’t want anything bad to happen to anyone who hasn’t proved they deserve it. And as much as Enjolras might frown on public drunkenness, he doesn’t think it’s quite at the level of say, political corruption or murder in the grand scheme of things. So he sleepily braces himself for the man to stumble into the taxi.

“Thank you for picking me up. I very much appreciate it,” the man says, opening the door and sliding in next to Enjolras. His words are slow, but surprisingly clear and deliberate considering how intoxicated he appears to be. “No one else was stopping.”

“Of course sweetheart. I didn’t want to leave you out there.” The cab driver turns to smile at the man.

“Oh I would’ve been okay. I always am,” the man says offhandedly. Then his eyes fall on Enjolras. “Oh you’re hot,” he blurts out.

Enjolras blinks at him. Because _what_.

The man closes his eyes tightly for a moment. “Shit. I didn’t mean to say—I meant it’s really warm in here, huh? I can’t stand this city in the summer.”

Enjolras can’t help but snort because this entire situation is so ridiculous. The man has dark hair, a little shorter than Enjolras’. He might actually be attractive if not for the slightly crooked nose and the red rimmed eyes. If Enjolras were being honest with himself (he’s not) he would admit that he finds the man attractive anyway. Whatever, even if he were going to admit it he would put it down to exhaustion. It’s been a long day full of painful cases and Enjolras really just needs to go to sleep. “Mm,” is all he responds.

“Oh shit I’m probably bothering you, aren’t I? I’ll just stop.” The man looks unnecessarily apologetic.

“No it’s fine. It’s just been a long day.” Enjolras is having trouble keeping his eyes open.

The man smirks. “Let me guess. You work on the hill, don’t you?”

Enjolras laughs at that. “God no. I’m a lawyer at a clinic downtown.”

The man doesn’t look particularly surprised. “I’m shocked. You do banking law or something god awful like that. Wait—divorce court! You do divorce court!”

“What?” Enjolras cannot believe this is happening to him right now. “No. I do immigration law.”

The man nods in understanding. “You’re one of those humanitarian lawyers. You think you can change the world.”

Enjolras sighs. “Somebody’s got to.”

The man laughs derisively. “The system is fucked, guy. What’s your name?”

“Enjolras,” Enjolras supplies without thinking. Shit. So much for not giving information out to strangers.

“Enjolras. Okay. I’m R,” the man says. “Anyway, nothing is going to change. It’s hopeless to think otherwise.”

“I am way too tired for this conversation right now,” Enjolras rubs his eyes. “But if we don’t try to make things better then what’s the point of anything?”

The man, R, grins at him. “Well that’s the million dollar question isn’t it?”

“Well what do you think?” Enjolras prods him.

“What do I think is the point of anything? Man, I am the last person on earth you want to ask that to. I’m just here to piss people off and throw paint at walls. Sometimes drinks too.”

Enjolras isn’t sure he wants to know, but can’t stop himself from asking, “What?”

R shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

Before Enjolras can get another word in, the cab driver announces, “Calvert and Connecticut as promised.”

Enjolras pays the driver, stumbles out of the taxi, nodding at R as he goes. “I’ll see you around, I guess,” he says lamely.

R rolls his eyes. “Yeah or not Enj. It’s been a pleasure.”

“Please don’t ever call me that,” is all Enjolras can manage to say before the taxi is pulling away and R is relegated to a sleep-induced mirage of some sort.

It takes Enjolras far longer to fall asleep than he would have expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on spring break so who knows this might even get finished in the next week or so, oh boy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no idea what i'm doing tbh.  
> cw for mentions of death (in the past)

Grantaire is late to work again. _Shit_. It’s the fifth time this month and he is officially fucked. Hopefully Cosette will cover for him once again. He’d better stop and pick up a donut for her to buy her forgiveness, but he works in a café so maybe he should pick up something that isn’t already easily available at said café. Maybe a milkshake? They don’t sell those do they? Although now that he thinks about, Grantaire doesn’t actually think that they sell donuts. He’ll just get her a donut. Although if he doesn’t hurry, the only thing he'll have time to do is beg for forgiveness before his boss chops his head off, so he’d better pick up the pace.

Grantaire is so caught up in thought that he doesn’t notice the guy in front of him until they collide, which is really just a little bit too late to be useful.

“Fuck!” There is no way Grantaire is going to survive the day now. Not with his train pulling away from the station as he lies on the ground watching it.

“I’m sorry.” The man sounds hesitant, but Grantaire gets up and brushes himself off before turning to look. He looks familiar for some reason, but Grantaire can’t quite place where he’s seen him before. “Wait…R?” Well that’s surprising.

Then it dawns on him. “You’re the hot guy from the taxi!” Wait he just said that out loud. Shit. “Shit. This is the second time I have accidentally called you hot and coincidentally the second time I have ever spoken to you. I’m sorry. I’m a train wreck.”

The guy, Grantaire can’t quite remember his name, E-something he thinks, looks like he’s trying to hide a blush, which is pretty amusing. “I’m sure you’re not a train wreck.”

Grantaire grins sunnily. “I’m about to be late to work for the fifth time this month, but nbd.” Yes he says nbd, so sue him.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Yeah well you better because I am full of hip and cool slang.” E-something raises an eyebrow. He really is pretty, which reminds Grantaire, “Hey not to sound like an asshole, but what’s your name? The last time we met I was less than sober.”

The guy looks embarrassed, “Oh of course. It’s Enjolras.”

“Is that French?”

“Yeah it is,” Enjolras sounds surprised.

“Mine is too. I bet no one ever pronounces your name correctly either, huh?”

Enjolras laughs. “I don’t think I have ever heard a non-French-American pronounce it correctly in my entire life. I’m not sure I believe that you can pronounce it correctly.”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says smoothly. “My mom is French and she made sure I was fluent growing up.”

“Ça va?” Enjolras’ eyes crinkle.

“Oui, ça va bien you huge dork,” Grantaire replies. “I could know no French and still be able to respond to that.”

Enjolras makes a face at him. “Et alors?”

“Tais-toi.” Graintaire laughs again. “Wow this is a surreal experience.”

Enjolras grins. “My dad’s French, but I haven’t had much chance to practice recently. Or ever really.”

“Not around much as a kid?” Grantaire knows that feeling. Part of the reason why his French is so good is that it was just him and his mom for most of his childhood.

‘No, he actually died when I was little.” Enjolras looks down at his shoes.

Well now Grantaire just feels like an asshole. “Shit I’m sorry, man. I overstepped.”

Enjolras shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. I was seven, so I barely remember him.”

Grantaire doesn’t really know how to respond to that, so he doesn’t say anything. Not saying anything makes him think about how late he is to work. “Shit. I am so fucked. I hope to god that I do not get fired today.”

“Where do you work?”

Grantaire looks up. “Why do you want to know? You’re practically a stranger. You could be a serial killer for all I know.”

Enjolras’ face falls. “Of course. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”

Grantaire laughs again. He’s been laughing a lot more than usual these past few minutes, but that’s not something that he’s going to examine too closely. “No it’s fine. I work at Busboys & Poets.”

“Really?” Enjolras’ eyes light up. “Which one?”

Grantaire is a little bit overwhelmed by this development. Not only does Enjolras know about Busboys & Poets, which is a point in his favor, but he knows that there are multiple locations. Anyway. “The one on 5th St.”

“Hey I go there!” Enjolras looks unnecessarily excited by the news. “I eat lunch there all the time, I can’t believe I’ve never seen you before.”

“I’ve literally worked there for a year. I do not have an answer for you.” This is too much for Grantaire to handle.

“I eat lunch there almost every Monday. It’s only a couple blocks from my office.”

Understanding dawns on Grantaire’s face. “You only eat there on Mondays?”

Enjolras looks confused. “Yes? I like having a routine. Whatever.”

“No no—it’s just—I work there Tuesdays through Saturdays, so it actually makes sense that I don’t see you. I have class all day on Mondays.”

“Oh okay. I guess that makes sense. Where do you take classes?” Enjolras seems genuinely interested in his answer, which Grantaire finds a little bit unbelievable.

“I’m getting a master’s in fine art at the Corcoran School of Art.” Grantaire knows what’s coming next and he still isn’t ready to deal with it.

“Wow. So what do you think about its being dismantled?” There it is.

“Honestly?” Enjolras nods. “I have no fucking idea. It’s breaking my heart, but what can I do? Fuck GW I might drop out.”

Enjolras just looks at him. “Don’t drop out.”

Grantaire glares at him. “Why the fuck not?”

“You wouldn’t be doing it if you didn’t love it.” Enjolras shrugs. “Seems a shame to waste all that time and money.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

A not uncomfortable silence falls between them and lasts long enough for the train to arrive and for them to sit down next to each other without thinking too hard about it. It continues until they both start talking at the same time.

“R—” Enjolras is soundly cut off by Grantaire babbling over him.

“Not to be weird or anything—” They both stop talking.

Enjolras nods at him. “Go ahead.”

Grantaire takes a breath. “Okay so not to be weird or anything, but the last time we met I distinctly remember you being dropped off in Adams Morgan and we are currently nowhere near Adams Morgan, so what are you actually doing here. I’m just curious,” he tacks on lamely.

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “Okay well first off it wasn’t Adams Morgan.”

“Oh close enough you fucking hipster.”

“And my friend Courfeyrac lives by the Navy Yard,” Enjolras continues without pause. “And I slept over last night, but I still have to go to work, so here I am.”

“Shit I know Courfeyrac. Yet another French-American, why am I not surprised?”

Enjolras raises his eyebrows. “How do you know Courfeyrac?”

“He lives in my building.” Grantaire shrugs. “He’s like three doors down from me.” Wait. Enjolras had just said—

“He lives in your building?” Enjolras asks with a note of disbelieving in his voice.

 _Shit_. Enjolras had been three doors down from him last night. Not that he had gotten himself off to the hazy memory of some hot blonde guy he met in a cab last week. Nope. Not at all. “Yeah. He’s a riot.”

“You can say that again.” Enjolras grins. “I don’t believe it. How have we not met before now?”

“The fates were against us I guess,” Grantaire begins, “except we did meet before now. We met last week. Sorry to break it to you.”

“Oh you knew what I meant.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Whatever.”

“Fine. Be that way. What were you going to say to me?”

Enjolras looks embarrassed. “It doesn’t matter.”

“No come on. You’ve gotta tell me now.”

“Fine.” Enjolras looks painfully cute when he mumbles. Grantaire is going to die. “I was just going to ask what your name is.”

What. Oh. Enjolras only knows his as R. Wow. He can’t help but laugh. “God is that all. It’s Grantaire.”

Enjolras smiles at him. “Grantaire. You weren’t lying about the Frenchness, were you?”

“I thought we had established that already.”

“Shut up,” Enjolras says. “Or as you would say, tais-toi.”

“Oh ho ho. Look at you with your French expressions.”

Enjolras glares at him. “You’re insufferable.” He looks around. “Also, this is my stop, so…” He trails off. “I guess I’ll see you around?”

“I said not likely last time and yet here we are, so who knows Apollo. Who knows.” Grantaire grins at him. He likes the nickname. He thinks it fits Enjolras’ almost godly charisma and presence. And his looks of course.

Enjolras tilts his head. “Why did you call me that?”

“What Apollo? It fits you.” Grantaire shrugs.

“I’m not a god.” Enjolras looks uncomfortable.

“Neither am I. Et alors?”

The metro doors open. Enjolras turns to walk out. He looks back and says, “Au revoir, R.” The doors close.

Grantaire stares after him.

—

“Please stop talking about Enjol-what’s his face for one goddamn minute and go serve your table.” Cosette looks about ready to smack Grantaire.

“But he was so pretty, Cosette.” Grantaire knows he’s pining, but he can’t help it. He’s got a big fat crush on Enjolras. Whatever.

“I literally could not care less about how pretty some random guy on the metro this morning was, R. Go serve your goddamn table.” Cosette actually does smack him then.

“Fine,” Grantaire says, pouting. He goes and takes care of his table before coming back to where Cosette is wiping down the front counter and flopping down next to her. “I hope you’re happy.”

“Ecstatic,” Cosette replies without looking at him. “But not if you’re going to continue to wax poetic about this guy because let’s face it, R, I have a girlfriend and I do not care.”

Grantaire clutches at his chest dramatically. “You don’t care about my happiness?”

Cosette smacks him again. “Of course I care about your happiness. Stop being an idiot.”

“But how will I find him again?” Grantaire puts his head on the counter.

“Didn’t you say he’s friends with your neighbor?” Cosette sounds surprisingly patient.

“Yeah,” Grantaire replies, words obscured against the countertop.

“Well then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want to look creepy.”

“Too late for that,” Cosette mutters.

“Hey now.”

“I’m just saying.”

At that moment a voice says, “R?”

Grantaire looks up and there is Enjolras.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'd apologize for how obnoxiously dc this is, but dc is a great city and i will defend it to my death.  
> i'm going to be in philly for two days, but i will be back i promise.


End file.
